Gritting my teeth, I darted away, tearing his fingers from my breast. I breathed hard when I reached the sideboard. So much food.
My stomach scrunched into a hunger ache.
So what I was naked? So what over twenty men waited to do who knew what to me? It didn’t matter. Because my life hinged on throwing away normal and embracing the crazy I now lived with.
I would meet them in hell and play their horrid games.I’ll come out the victor.
Grabbing a tiered platter of pâté, crusty bread, and pickled vegetables, my mouth watered.
I’m so hungry.
My stomach growled, sending spasms of pain. I’d never gone this long without food, and the lack of sugars and vitamins faded the edges of my vision. My fingers whispered over a piece of roasted potato. Just one little taste...
“Hurry up,” Mr. Hawk ordered.
Shaking my head from the overwhelming need to shove a handful of delicious looking food into my mouth, I turned to face the table. I’d never waitressed before, but I guessed the man in charge would getfirst choice.
That means passing him again.
Holding tight to the platter, I held my head high, and made my way past Jethro. His mouth twitched as he once again blocked my path. I kept my lips tight together, not looking at the challenge in his eyes.
“Not interested in me anymore, Ms. Weaver?” he purred.
Mr. Hawk looked over his chair and pointed at me, then placed his finger over his lips in the universal ‘hush’ sign. A non-so-subtle reminder that I wasn’t permitted to speak.
When I didn’t respond. Jethro smiled. “I’m impressed.”
He might terrify me, but he needed to know I wouldn’t give up. I had plans for him, and I wouldn’t be so easily cowed. Plus, he had my vomit on his shoes, he shouldn’t be so smug.
I let myself glance into his golden eyes.You don’t scare me.
His capricious demeanour shifted slightly, a silent message glowing in his gaze.Give me time.
He let me pass without another word.
Breathing shallowly, I came to a standstill beside Mr. Hawk. He nodded, choosing a selection from the platter. “Good girl. You may now serve the rest of the table. Left to right, if you please.”
Straightening, I forced myself to truly look at the men before me—the gauntlet of masculinity I had to travel through to reach my destination.
My heart raced; a cold sweat broke out down my spine.
Stay cold. Stay free. And you’ll get through this.
I placed one foot, then another. My heartbeat ratcheted as I came to a stop beside a large man. He had orange hair and a tattoo snaking up his neck.
My vision wobbled; I tottered to the left as a small wave of vertigo reminded me I’d been stable up to this point thanks to a miracle. Orange Tattoo shot out an arm, preventing me from slamming into the table.
He grinned. “Steady, I won’t bite.” He brought me close, smiling so deep a dimple formed. “I’ll lick though.”
Before I could move, his tongue landed on my thigh, licking long and slow like a giant animal.
What?!
I squirmed, almost dropping the tray. His grip was absolute, holding me firm until he’d tasted his full. The rush of vertigo turned tonausea. The sickly scent of my previous sickness didn’t help my stomach from rolling like a shipwreck.
Letting me go, I stumbled and tried to rub away the glisten of wetness from his awful mouth. It only transferred to my naked elbow.
Orange Tattoo beamed, licked his lips, and took a selection of breads and pickles. “Thank you, Ms. Weaver.”
